


As It Should

by couchbarnacle



Series: Pave the Way Series [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Babysitter!Sherlock, Fluff, Gen, Kid!Fic, Kid!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-09 16:03:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couchbarnacle/pseuds/couchbarnacle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With John's mother going out of town, Mrs. Holmes invites John to stay at their house for the week. This is going to be a small multiple-chapter part of the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I PROMISE this one is mostly fluff.

“Sherlock!” John cried out, “This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“Really?” Sherlock asked dubiously glancing around, “You’ve never seen anything cooler than this?”

“It’s like a space castle!” John said dropping his backpack and running to the big, full windows. He pressed his face against the giant plane of glass and looked at the view of the town trying to pick out his house from the flickering lights below. He felt Sherlock wander over as he was scanning the area and ruffle his hair affectionately.

“Oh, my,” A woman’s voice said mildly, “I didn’t realize that you’d arrived.”

John turned quickly to stare at the slight woman before brushing at his jumper to try to get rid of the wrinkles and smiling politely, “Hello Mrs. Holmes. My name is John Watson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Well, aren’t you just a little gentleman,” She said, smiling.

“I’m technically nine and three quarters,” John said firmly.

“Goodness gracious,” She said, sounding astounded, “I can’t believe that Sherlock has been looking after you almost six years now.”

“I’ve hardly been looking after him,” Sherlock huffed agitated.

“He’s just the best babysitter in the whole world,” John said seriously, “And my very best friend.”

John turned a beaming smile on Sherlock unaware that there was a matching one from Sherlock’s mum being directed at her son as well. He watched as Sherlock blushed light pink before clearing his throat and picking up John’s suitcase.

“Is the guest room ready?” he asked mildly.

“All set up,” she said to her son before turning to their houseguest, “Now Sherlock will give you the tour but don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions.”

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Holmes,” John said proudly, “My mum told me to say that this is very kind of you and that I won’t be a nuisance.”

“We’re very happy to have you with us, John,” Mrs. Holmes said with a bright grin, “Make yourself at home. Dinner’s going to be here at seven, alright? I’ve got that event this evening so you boys will be on your own.”

“Do you need me to help set the table?” John asked hurriedly, “Tom says I’m very good at setting the table.”

“I will keep that in mind for the rest of the week,” Mrs. Holmes nodded sagely, “But for tonight why don’t you focus on settling in, alright?”

“Okay,” John replied.

“Come along, John,” Sherlock directed, “I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

John trailed after him, trying to absorb the sleek gray, black, and metal details of the house. They walked quickly passed a sculpture of what looked like several spray painted, sparkly deer and up a flight of stairs that didn’t seem to be held up by anything.

“Sherlock?” John whispered, “Is your mum a gazillionaire?”

“My mother did inherit a considerable amount of money after her father passed away which does pay for most of the day to day expenses of the household,” Sherlock said blandly, “But she’s hardly a gazillionaire. My father works in the government.”

“Wow,” John replied reverently, “Should I take my trainers off? Mike’s da always makes us take our trainers off because he doesn’t want us getting dirt on his investment. Whatever that means.”

“That’s because Mike’s father is compensating for something,” Sherlock said with a smirk.

Stopping in front of a random door along the hall, John leaned back to see that the big, frosted glass door went all the way up to the ceiling. John peered around his babysitter as the door was pulled open and blinked several times at the neon yellow and charcoal gray interior.

“My mother is experimenting with marked contrasting right now,” Sherlock explained sounding a bit flustered.

“Does it glow in the dark?” John whispered hopefully, “Because that would be brilliant.”

“I’ll see what we can do about that, shall I?” Sherlock grinned, “Let’s get you unpacked and then you get your bath in before dinner.”

 John helped as much as possible as Sherlock unpacked his small suitcase into the wardrobe and listened attentively as Sherlock explained the taps in the bathroom. Sherlock left him to it and he carefully stripped and folded his clothes before filling the bath. He stared curiously at the soaps and bottles lining the tub before placing them neatly in a line on the shelf by the toilet and swapping them out for his Captain America shampoo and soap. He washed quickly and put on his brand new jimjams that Mrs. Hudson had brought back for him from Edinburgh. He wandered out into the hall trying to orient himself to the stark hallway. He was just about to start knocking randomly on doors when Sherlock came out of the room directly across from him.

“Ready for dinner?” Sherlock asked before beckoning toward the staircase. As they walked down, John heard the doorbell go and heard Mrs. Holmes answer it as Sherlock led him into the kitchen.

“Orange juice?” Sherlock asked pulling a bottle out of the fridge.

“Yeah,” John smiled and sat quietly on the bar stool.

Mrs. Holmes bustled in with a couple of pizza boxes held far away from her cream, structured dress.

“Orange juice with pizza?” She asked eying her son warily.

“John’s favorite drink,” Sherlock shrugged placing a glass in front of the boy with a grin.

“I was wondering why it was on the shopping list,” She said breezily, “Dig in and don’t cause any trouble. I’ll be home around midnight.”

“Have a very good time tonight,” John said.

“Well, thank you,” She said placing her hand gently on John’s curls, “You as well. Keep an eye on Sherlock for me?”

“I shall try my best,” John said solemnly before grinning mischievously at his babysitter.

“Bye, love,” Mrs. Holmes said to Sherlock before shuffling down the hallway on glittery heels.

“Your mum is really pretty,” John said after inhaling his second piece of pizza.

“Objectively, she has many of the traditional features that the general public would considered aesthetically pleasing,” Sherlock shrugged.

“Does your da think she’s pretty?” John asked.

“I believe he does,” Sherlock said evenly, “Why do you ask?”

“Tom calls Mum pretty,” John huffed lightly.

“Thomas Jeffrey Hoyt. Your mother’s boyfriend,” Sherlock replied.

“He tells me to call him Tom,” John explained, “Which is weird because I’m supposed to call every other adult by their fancy name.”

“He just wants to be your friend,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Mum keeps saying that he’s gonna be a part of our family,” John sighed, sounding slightly miserable, “Do you think they’re gonna get married?”

“Do you not like him?” Sherlock asked, “Has he ever been mean to you?”

“No, I mean, he’s okay, I guess,” John answered, “He keeps telling Mum that I need to build character. That’s what they’re doing this week. Tom said that they’re gonna secure my future.”

“John…” Sherlock asked carefully, “Where are your mother and Mr. Hoyt going this week?”

“Mum wouldn’t say,” John shrugged, before swallowing heavily, “You don’t think that he’d take Mum away from me, do you?”

“Not at all,” Sherlock said, turning John’s stool to face him before grasping his chin gently to pull John’s eyes up to his, “Your mum would never ever leave you. Don’t ever think that. She loves you more than anything in the entire world.”

“I know,” John said heavily, “It’s just that she wouldn’t even let me come with them. I must have asked her a thousand times but she just kept saying no.”

“She probably just didn’t want you to miss classes for a week,” Sherlock said confidently, “We have to keep that brain active, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” John admitted, “Mrs. Turner says I’m the best at maths in my whole grade.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” Sherlock answered with a smile, “Now shall we clean up this mess and see what’s on telly this evening?”

“Okay,” John replied.

John was curled up in the big bed asleep when he heard something clunking loudly in the hall outside the bedroom. He jerked awake and shifted toward the edge of the bed waiting for any more noises. It was pitch black in the room and there was no light coming in through the door from the hallway. He was just about to scramble back up to the pillows when his door slid open showing just the barest outline of an extremely tall person entering the room. With a great leap and a fierce shriek of bravery, he slammed into the top half of the intruder.

00000000000000000

Sherlock was browsing through the course catalog for the upcoming school year when a high-pitched shout sounded loudly from the room across the hall. He vaulted off the bed and threw his door open, hitting the light switch on the way just as the door to John’s room opened and Mycroft stumbled out with John’s arm wrapped firmly over his face with the rest of him clinging to his brother’s shoulders with fingers and toes.

“I believe this belongs to you?” Mycroft growled out causing Sherlock to throw back his head and start laughing uncontrollably, “Would you stop bloody laughing?!”

“What’s going on?” Mrs. Holmes said running down the hall.

John was still hanging from Mycroft’s limbs and neck but he poked his head over his shoulder to call out loudly, “He said a naughty word!”

This caused Sherlock to laugh even louder and collapse against the wall to support his weight as the amusement and affection for this little boy poured out of him. He watched on happily as Mycroft tried to maneuver the little boy around so that he could set him down on the floor neatly.

“Mycroft,” Mrs. Holmes smiled. “I didn’t know you were coming home today. I would have told you that John would be staying with us for the week.”

“Hello,” John said, thrusting a hand out, “My name is John Watson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well,” Mycroft said, shaking it firmly, “Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s elder brother. I do apologize for disturbing your sleep cycle.”

“That’s alright,” John said brightly.

“Now that everyone has been formally introduced,” Mrs. Holmes cut in, “Mycroft, why don’t you take the east room. John, you best get back to sleep. You have school in the morning.”

“Okay, Mrs. Holmes,” John said, “Goodnight everyone.”

Sherlock, Mycroft, and Mrs. Holmes watched as John quickly returned to his room. Sherlock turned back to his room but was stopped by the expression on Mycroft’s face.

“What?” He drawled over his shoulder.

“I see why you like him,” Mycroft said blandly, “He does have a bit of a spark about him, doesn’t he?”

Sherlock just huffed loudly and spun on his heel secure in the fact that Mycroft didn’t know the half of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's day at school has been going less than smoothly. Sherlock to the rescue.

“Boring…dull…useless…mind-numbing…oh, look, my brain could actually rot from this,” Sherlock growled to himself searching through his father’s library for something to entertain himself.

He was two seconds away from reorganizing the whole thing out of spite when his phone went off.

“What?” He drawled.

“Is this Sherlock Holmes?” The male voice said over the line.

“Yes,” Sherlock answered, “What do you want?”

“I have a note here that says you are the contact person for John Watson this week. Is that correct?” The man chirps.

“Is he alright?” Sherlock says loudly feeling his heart clench strangely.

“We need you to come in and pick him up as well as have a chat with the Vice Principal,” The man replied, “Are you able to come now?”

“Would it _literally_ kill you to actually answer my question? Because if you don’t answer it in the next few seconds, you’re going to be six feet under anyway.” Sherlock growled darkly, “Is. He. Alright?”

The line was eerily quiet before a voice squeaked over the other end, “He’s fine, just fine. Will you come?”

“I’ll be there,” Sherlock said before hanging up and shoving the phone back in his pocket.

He sat in Mycroft’s car jiggling his leg repeatedly after checking, double checking, and triple checking the news websites for anything that could have happened at John’s school. Mycroft was an unfortunate by-product of his car but his mother was out and he had no other forms of transportation open to him.

Once the vehicle came to what could conceivably be considered the very early stages of a full-stop, Sherlock leapt from the vehicle and made his way quickly to the front door and into the office. He caught sight of John sitting frozen in a little plastic chair and he vaulted over the office manager’s desk to slide to a halt at John’s feet. He soaked up John’s features. Tense and twisted, eyes staring at nothing and breathing slightly labored. Nose shows faint bruises and both nostrils have trace amounts of blood with poorly cleaned swipes above his lip. Skin’s pale and slightly clammy. Hands shaking just slightly.

“John?” Sherlock asked quietly, clasping John’s trembling hands in his own, “John, are you alright?”

John nodded miserably and leaned into Sherlock’s form, resting his head heavily on his shoulder. Sherlock placed a hand reassuringly on the back of his head and ruffled his hair in an attempt at comfort.

“Mr. Holmes?” A woman’s voice inquired quietly.

“What happened?” Sherlock asked seriously.

“If you and John want to come into my office, we can discuss it,” She said competently, “We’ve already spoken to the other student and after a few questions, you can take him home. He’s a bit shaken.”

Sherlock gave John a few more comforting pats on the head before pulling back and unfolding to his full height. He felt John’s fingers clutch tightly to the hem of his shirt as they walked into his Vice Principal’s office.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” She asked, turning to Mycroft with a suspicious eyebrow.

“Mycroft Holmes,” He smiled winningly, “Sherlock’s brother. John’s staying at our house until his mother returns from her trip. Please do continue.”

She gave him one more uncertain look before sitting down at her desk and motioning for John and Sherlock to sit. John practically collapsed into a chair but kept a firm grip on Sherlock’s clothing causing him to shuffle his own chair closer to the small boy before sitting himself.

“Alright,” She said, “John, do you want to tell me what happened?”

John just shook his head slightly and grasped onto Sherlock’s shirt tighter.

“The other student has already given an account of what happened,” She continued, “I’d like to hear your side of the story.”

John just stayed silent and focused on the floor.

“You don’t want to tell me?” She urged, “Ms. Morstan has told me her side of it and it doesn’t particularly paint you in a good light, John. Don’t you want to defend yourself?”

John just curled a little closer to Sherlock and remained silent.

The Vice Principal sighed and began directing her speech to Sherlock, “John has been involved in a fight. From what I can gather, at some point Ms. Morstan was pushed to the ground and at another point she hit him so hard in the nose, he got a nose bleed. Ms. Morstan has given me her version of the events and without John talking, there’s not a lot I can do to rectify any bad behavior on her part.”

“Look at him,” Sherlock urged, “He’s practically catatonic. John doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body. Does this look like a boy who’s done anything wrong?”

“I don’t need you to convince me of John’s character, Mr. Holmes,” She said honestly, “He’s a very good student but these things do occasionally happen and without John giving me any reason not to, I have to exact the proper consequence for physically assaulting another student.”

“And what _consequence_ are you suggesting?” Sherlock asked trying and failing not to sneer.

“John,” She said, kindly turning back to the little boy, “Do you understand that pushing Ms. Morstan to the ground was a not good thing to do?”

He nodded solemnly but didn’t look up.

“You know that every action has consequences, right?” She said, waiting once more for his nod, “The consequence of hurting another student is no recess for two weeks. You’ll stay inside and do homework quietly as well as turn in a short essay on why you shouldn’t hurt others, alright?”

John nodded again. The silence and stillness of his little ward was making Sherlock’s hair stand on edge. Even when John was tired, his behaviors were always fluid and punctuated by sighs or laughs or chatter. This was unnerving and Sherlock was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“Are we free to go?” Sherlock asked, wanting to get John out of here as quickly as possible.

“Of course,” She said, sighing at John’s lack of response.

Sherlock stood slowly and John got to his feet as well, continuing to clutch at Sherlock’s shirt. As they turned to head out of the room, Mycroft glanced over John once before placing a hand heavily on John’s shoulder and whispering to the boy, “Don’t worry, John. These things do get easier with time.”

“If you can get anything out of him,” Sherlock heard the woman say to Mycroft, “I really do need to know what is going on with my students.”

“Of course,” He answered nobly, “But I wouldn’t be too worried about this. Children will be children, after all.”

The ride back was quiet and once they arrived back at the house, John made his way slowly up to his room before dropping face down on his mattress and lying there like a dead fish. Sherlock sat down next to him and placed a warm hand on his back.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sherlock asked quietly.

It was like a circuit finally closed; John leapt up and shrieked at the top of his lungs, “SHE KISSED ME!!”

There was a beat of silence when Sherlock brain experienced a forced shutdown before John continued.

“SHE KISSED ME!” He shouted, “She can’t do that. You can’t just _do_ that. It’s against the rules. You can’t just kiss people without asking first. There are very serious laws about this kind of thing. She kissed me and _then_ she punched me in the nose! In the nose, Sherlock! And it hurt, so I pushed her. I know I shouldn’t push people over but she kissed me and then she punched me and my head just went…like…BOOM and then she told the teachers that I pushed her down first! She lied and she kissed me!”

Sherlock watched this firecracker of a kid throw himself across the room in distress and uncertainty and felt relief and amusement flood into his body.

“John,” He said firmly, grabbing a flailing arm and pulling him close to catch his gaze, “I’m guessing you didn’t want her to kiss you?”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” John sniffed awkwardly, “But she didn’t ask first. And then she punched me.”

“You’re right,” Sherlock agreed, “She should have asked you first. That was very rude and even more inconsiderate was her then punching your nose. Did she tell you why she did these things?”

“She kissed me because she said she liked my jumper,” John said, tugging at the infernal piece of clothing in distress, “And she said she hit me because I didn’t ask her to be my girlfriend. I didn’t even know that I was supposed to do that. How was I supposed to know that?”

Sherlock smiled ruefully before answering, “I really can’t help you there, John. Girls aren’t really my area. But you didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t have to be her boyfriend if you don’t want. I do believe you’re very young for that sort of thing.”

“Mike’s Cassie’s boyfriend and he has to give her his pudding every day at lunch,” John sighed, “I like my pudding. I don’t want to have to give it to Mary every day.”

“Then I suggest that you take yourself off the dating scene until you’re quite ready to sacrifice your pudding in the name of adolescent play dates,” Sherlock said sagely.

 “Plus, Tom has to take out Mum’s trash,” John said in his defense, “And I don’t want to have to go all the way to Mary’s house to empty her bins.”

“I think you’re making a very wise decision,” Sherlock said, ruffling his hair a bit, “Are you feeling better?”

John literally fell against Sherlock and the taller man wrapped him up in a big hug.

“Do you think Mum’ll be mad?” John mumbled against Sherlock’s shoulder.

“I’ll talk to her,” Sherlock answered, “And your teachers too. You shouldn’t be penalized for any of this.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed her down,” John said quietly.

“No,” Sherlock said, “But I think we can reduce your sentence a bit.”

“Thanks,” John whispered.

“You’re welcome, John,” Sherlock answered, “Why don’t we take Mycroft’s car out to get some ice cream?”

“No,” John sighed heavily, “I’m just tired.”

“Why don’t you have your bath early then and take a nap,” Sherlock said, “We can work on your homework after dinner.”

Sherlock left John to it and went into the kitchen to make a few phone calls.

“I’ve taken care of speaking with his Vice Principal,” Mycroft said, seated at the table and snacking on a slice of red velvet cake, “It was rather obvious what happened.”

“Transparent,” Sherlock bluffed.

“He is inordinately fond of you, Sherlock,” Mycroft said evenly, “And you are extremely good with him.”

“Stating the obvious?” Sherlock asked with a smirk.

“Stating the improbable, in fact,” Mycroft countered.


	3. Chapter 3

“We could just order something in.” Mycroft said, perched on the stool looking fairly concerned at the events surrounding him, “Or we could even go out. I wouldn’t mind covering the bill.”

“It’s not the same,” John said simply standing on a tall chair to reach the cupboards, “Do you know where the pancake mix is?”

“Third cupboard from the left,” Mycroft answered simply, “I could get my assistant to make us something.”

“Mycroft,” John sighed, sounding as if he was interacting with a simpleton, “It’s Saturday morning. On Saturday mornings, we make pancakes and eggs. Are you going to help me or not?”

“Why can’t Sherlock help you?” Mycroft asked nervous for his suit as well as his dignity.

“He had to run to the store to pick up syrup,” John answered, “Now where do I find the pans?”

Thirty minutes later, Mrs. Holmes arrived home from her early morning jog to find both her boys as well as John covered in a dusting of pancake mix. The kitchen was littered with dirty dishes and sticky splotches of egg whites and syrup.

“We made you breakfast!” John called out gleefully, gesturing to the plate practically overflowing with food.

“Well isn’t that sweet,” She said, directing knowing looks to counter the avoiding ones from her children, “I can’t remember the last time someone made me breakfast.”

“Yes, well,” Mycroft huffed, trying to brush off his shirt sleeves, “John was rather insistent.”

“May I ask who is going to…umm…put everything to rights after we eat?” She asked tentatively, not wanting to hurt John’s feelings.

“Sherlock, of course,” Mycroft said with a raised eyebrow, “He’s the one who made the mess.”

“Hey!” Sherlock said defensively, “You’re the one who tried to open the pancake mix without scissors.”

“Well, you thought it would be a brilliant idea to juggle the eggs,” Mycroft answered back.

Mrs. Holmes let the familiar cadence of her boys’ bickering waft over her as she ate her breakfast. She’d have to make herself pancakes more often. It was much easier to tolerate their fraternal spats with flapjacks and eggs. John was a godsend.

000000000000000

John rolled out of bed at the first flash of lightning. He wrapped himself up quickly in his duvet before wandering out into the hall as a crack of thunder made the walls of the house vibrate. Moving carefully down the stairs, lit only by the occasional flashes of lightning and a soft glow from the kitchen, John moved to stand against the huge panes of glass to watch the storm rage around them.  Rain lashed hard and fast against the window making visibility low. He stood, pressing his face against the glass for several minutes before wandering into the empty kitchen. Mrs. Holmes liked to keep the light above the stove on at night. He opened the fridge to pour himself some orange juice before flipping on the kettle and perching on one of the stools swinging his legs back and forth impatiently. He hopped down as the kettle clicked and carefully grabbed a mug from the drying rack next to the sink. He was too short to grab the mugs from the cabinet. He carefully poured the hot water over a tea bag and waited precisely two and a half minutes (he put the timer on from the microwave). After tossing the tea bag in the trash, he refilled his glass of juice before carefully walking back up the stairs and leaning his ear against Sherlock’s door. Over the thunder, wind, and rain, he heard his babysitter mumbling and pacing through the heavy glass. He looked for a place to set down his juice but just decided on putting it on the floor before pulling the door open. He picked up his juice again, making sure not to spill either drink

“Sherlock?” John asked quietly.

He watched his babysitter pace almost frantically back and forth. His hair was a wreck and his face looked pinched and pale. He tried again, “Sherlock.”

Sherlock whipped around and almost stumbled to a halt at the little boy’s entrance.

“What are you doing up?” Sherlock asked, “You’re not afraid of storms.”

“No,” John shrugged, walking forward with the tea held out in front of him, “But you don’t like them.”

“Nonsense,” Sherlock said weakly, but he took the tea anyway and collapsed on the chair of his desk heavily anyway.

“It’s okay,” John answered, “Mum says being afraid of stuff is normal.”

“I’m not afraid,” Sherlock tried to explain, “It’s just the noise…I can’t focus my thoughts…it’s disruptive and I can’t seem to control the flurry of input.”

“Oh,” John answered, not sure that he understood any of that, “What are you trying to think about?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said tiredly, “Anything. I just…I just can’t.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” John asked.

“The tea is wonderful,” Sherlock replied, “Thank you very much. But shouldn’t you be sleeping? Your mother is coming rather early tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but I thought you might need company more than I need sleep,” John answered simply.

“That’s incredibly thoughtful,” Sherlock said, “But I don’t want to keep you awake all night. Why don’t you head back to bed? I’ll be fine.”

John sipped his juice slowly, stalling for time. He didn’t want Sherlock to be scared. And he always hated being alone when he was scared. He tried to think of what he could do to help his very best friend when a sudden idea floated to the top of his mind.

“Wanna play a game!?” He asked happily.

“It’s two in the morning,” Sherlock answered, “What kind of game could we possibly play?”

“I know the perfect thing,” John said confidently, gesturing for Sherlock to switch places with him.

“John?” Sherlock said several minutes later pacing back and forth impatiently.

“Yes?” John asked, distracted.

“Do you need me to help you?” Sherlock pleaded.

“No,” John answered firmly, “I can do it.”

“I’m aware that you have the ability to do it,” Sherlock cajoled, “I was just asking if maybe you wanted me to do it instead.”

“No,” John continued stubbornly, “I can do it.”

“I really don’t mind. At all,” Sherlock urged.

“Mrs. Donovan would say you’re being disruptive to the class,” John replied, “And then you wouldn’t get to go art class. You’d have to stay back and write lines.”

“If you let me take over,” Sherlock answered, “I’ll stop being disruptive. I promise!”

“Sherlock,” John huffed in amusement as he continued to peck at the keyboard, “You’re funny.”

John continued to slowly pick out the letters on the keyboard with his pointer fingers while glancing up at the screen every few seconds. He ignored Sherlock who had dramatically thrown himself on his bed in a fit of overwhelming desperation causing John to giggle uncontrollably.

“Okay!” John said maneuvering the mouse carefully, “Ready to play?”

“Ms. Pacman?” Sherlock asked curiously.

“Yeah, Mike showed it to me the other week when we were at his house,” John smiled, “It’s really fun.”

John played for several minutes, dying often but restarting each time with a sigh and a smile. He let Sherlock take over after a bit and he smiled smugly to himself as he watched Sherlock absorb himself so much in the game that he wasn’t even aware of the storm slowly moving away. He curled up on Sherlock’s bed as he internally gave himself a high five. He was brilliant.

0000000000000000

Sherlock stretched languidly and pushed himself away from the computer with a satisfied groan. That game had been surprisingly pleasurable. He glanced out the window and blinked in confusion at the morning light streaming into the room. He wasn’t aware that it was morning already. The storm had passed through as well. He turned to find John curled up under his duvet, snoring lightly and burrowing into Sherlock’s pillow. He felt a warm smile overtake his features. John really was outstandingly unique. He got up quietly, closing the blinds and making his way down the staircase to get another cup of tea. He was just about to enter when he heard voices coming from the dining room.

“That’s so exciting!” his mother said happily, “Engaged! Oh, Noelle, I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Ms. Watson sighed, “I haven’t been this happy in ages.”

“Tom sounds like a very good man,” Mrs. Holmes continued.

“He is such a good guy,” Ms. Watson replied, “And he tries so very hard with John.”

“Does John like him?” The older woman asked.

“I feel like a terrible mother for saying this,” Ms. Watson said fervently, “But I really have no idea.”

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Holmes replied.

“You’ve met John,” Ms. Watson tried to explain, “He’s so proper and accommodating. I can’t tell if he genuinely likes Tom or if he’s just being polite.”

“Surely he would tell you though,” Mrs. Holmes reassured her, “If he had a problem with him.”

“I hope that he would,” Ms. Watson said, sounding almost sad, “I mean, Tom is really good with him and I’m sure that John doesn’t dislike him. I’m just not sure that he really truly looks at him as a father-figure and I worry that John doesn’t have a strong, male role model in his life.”

“John is a great kid,” Mrs. Holmes said firmly, “And you’re a great mother. John doesn’t need to look at Thomas as a role model. He’s got you. You’re all he’ll ever need to look up to as a parent.”

“You don’t think he’s suffering from the lack of a father?” Ms. Watson asked sounding unsure.

“Not at all,” Mrs. Holmes answered steadfastly, “John is great. Don’t put any pressure on it and I’m sure they will find a rhythm soon enough.”

“Thanks, Charlotte,” Ms. Watson sighed heavily.

“Anytime,” Mrs. Holmes replied, “Should we wake John up? Last time I checked he was passed out on Sherlock’s bed while my son was zoned out playing some computer game with fruit.”

Ms. Watson laughed warmly, “I don’t know what I was thinking! John’s had Sherlock since he was four. He doesn’t really need any other male role model than him.”

Sherlock crept away from the door and went to stare out at the scenery from the front room digesting this new information. John was getting a step-father. That was interestingly uncomfortable. Sherlock wasn’t stupid. He knew that once John became close with this Thomas fellow, he wouldn’t look at Sherlock the same way. All of the things that John used to think were brilliant about him would be recategorized as abnormal. It’s true he’d never once thought of himself as a paternal figure in John’s life, but he’d always selfishly considered himself integral. The idea that he’d be replaced by some average accountant was making his skin clammy. He was heading back to school today for the new semester anyway. He’d have to spend some time thinking this new development over.


End file.
